


The Language of Pain

by melanie1982



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994)
Genre: BDSM, F/F, F/M, Kinbaku, Kink, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Piercing, Prostitution, Watersports, blood-drinking, bloodsport, internet research is a sketchy business, possible cultural misappropriation though that's not my intent, tattooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-05-02 03:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5231972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanie1982/pseuds/melanie1982
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tentatively finished as of 6/14/2016</p><p>Lestat delights in finding new ways to surprise and entice his beautiful one. When Lestat gets a crash-course education into the seedy underbelly of the internet, it opens up wonderful new worlds of debauchery - with a lucky Louis dragged along for the ride!</p><p>This story is fiction. I don't own these characters, and I make no money from this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Runaway (or, Escapade - you choose)

Lestat thanked the dark powers every day for his Louis returning to him. Every time they fed together; every time they retired to their double-sized coffin for the 'night'; every time he took sweet possession of Louis or allowed himself to be taken - each of these minor miracles was a call for thanksgiving. Together, they had practiced (and, in some instances, perfected) nearly every act in which two men could indulge; and yet, Lestat felt there was more pleasure to be had. He did so enjoy surprising and corrupting his dark angel; perhaps that new toy of Louis' - what was it again? a 'computer' - could give Lestat inspiration. Louis claimed to now have access to the thoughts, words and deeds of billions of people through the magic of something called 'windows', and voyeurism held immense appeal to Lestat - so perhaps it was worth a try.

On a dreary Sunday evening, after an early meal, Lestat fired up the computer. A week ago, Louis had given him a rudimentary lesson on how to use the contraption, which Lestat remembered in vivid detail - he often committed Louis' words and movements to memory - and Lestat smiled to himself as he found that the windows would open for him just as they did for his lover. Louis, engrossed in his reading - tonight's subject of choice was poetry - glanced upwards, briefly, arched one perfect brow in mild surprise, then returned to his pages. Lestat found the first window opened automatically to something called 'google', which he remembered Louis explained was a way to search for information. Lestat thoughtfully tapped one tapered fingernail against the desk, wondering what to search for. What would bring him, and Louis, the most pleasure? "Louis adores sex," he mused, "and we both enjoy pain." Inspired, Lestat typed in 'sex and pain,' hit the 'enter' key with a salacious chuckle, and sat back, astonished.

Thousands, tens of thousands, of results appeared on the screen. There were photographs, videos, scholarly essays, popular how-to articles.. Lestat was amazed that so many mortals were interested in (and skilled at) giving and receiving pain. Making a mental note for later feedings - wouldn't it be fun to toy with a victim sexually before draining them? And these people WANTED fear and pain! - , he scrolled down. A link for an establishment calling itself 'The Dungeon' intrigued him, so he clicked on it with the mouse. Why, this dungeon existed only an hour outside of their city! This place, for a small fee, would allow guests to enter their space and watch or partake in all manner of delicious torments, well-deserved punishments, and painful sex. Had Louis been aware of this? Was this something purely "Americaine," or would there be dungeons in other countries? Lestat's mind expanded several light-years as he contemplated the possibilities. All of those potential entrée- err, playmates, ready and willing to be used and abused by two gorgeous immortals? And the idea of putting on a show for these demented humans - showing them the true meaning of what it is to be loved by death, to suffer for love - the exhibitionist in him was dripping pre-cum at the thought. Forget that Theatres des Vampires; this would be true art, Louis' fine form as poetry in motion... Lestat immediately searched for similar clubs in the capitals of Europe, confirming his hopes. He must take Louis to these places, must show him the pleasure and the pain of it all. They would partake of every vicious torture and every sweet release, together. Mon Dieu! He set about booking them flights to every major city, allowing for time to see the sights and rest inbetween bouts of pain-play.

As he took care of the arrangements, he hummed to himself, a jaunty tune from the old country. Louis noticed the mirth flashing in his eyes like fire, and something warm and liquid began to pool in his groin; what was his mischievous brat up to now? Louis had the patience of a saint when it came to delayed gratification, and he felt sure Lestat would clue him in on the private joke in due time. Lestat, however, did not have that patience, and, his task completed, he went to spill the beans to his bemused lover. 

"Louis, we are going on a trip through the capitals of Europe, then on to various Asian nations. I have found something most exciting to show you, to experience with you. Did you know there are humans who indulge in painful sexual acts, as we do? They get together in groups and pay a fee to do it! Oh, my love, they have no idea what true pain is! The poor fools; how could they ever hope to experience the heights of ecstasy, the realms of pleasure accessible only to immortals? Still - is that not.. hot?" Louis had to concede that it, was, indeed, 'hot.' It had been months since they had ventured farther than the city limits, and the idea of traveling the world to witness how different cultures of humans experienced sex, pain, and a blend of the two - well, it was almost scholarly, wasn't it? The hottest research project the curious one had yet undertaken, to be sure. "It sounds wonderful, 'Stat. When does this sexual odyssey begin?" Louis had to give in when Lestat had that impish enthusiasm about him, the teacher role being cast aside to reveal an eager pupil. "Tomorrow at sunset! We begin where every adventure worth its salt begins - in Paris!"

As Lestat began to pack - changes of clothing were necessary; the other accoutrements were just for show, and to justify the transport of their enormous yet otherwise inconspicuous trunk - Louis returned to his reading. The pages held less appeal, however, than the thoughts of what was to come in less than twenty-four hours.  
...................................................................................................

The moment they stepped off of the plane, Louis and Lestat felt they were home. Time and politics had not altered the spirit of the place, and, strangely (or perhaps it made perfect sense), the locals did not give them their usual contemptuous 'Oh, American tourists!' glances. As they made their way to the hotel, guided by an endless sea of lights, the two lovers freely discussed their plans. Lestat had made contact with the club's proprietors before their trip, and everything was arranged. The club's regulars, along with any lucky visitors, were in for quite a show, the details of which Stat had managed to keep from Louis.

"And, mon amour, is there to be a safeword?"

Louis smiled, and Lestat's heart, could it have done so, would have melted. "I suppose, as we are men, there must be. What shall it be, then?"

They pondered for a moment, rejecting each option, until they settled upon 'baguette.' This prompted Stat to give a snort of laughter; such a touristy word to choose. "Very well. 'Baguette' it is. Though I don't anticipate you refusing my baguette tonight." Louis shifted in his seat, the fetish gear chafing him somewhat, though the discomfort was nothing compared to the swollen hard-on it gave to Stat for most of the flight, knowing his lover was attired so provocatively beneath his fashionable travel-suit. "Such a naughty one, you are, and yet so innocent." As if to underline his compliment, Louis composed his most angelic face, and this prompted more laughter as they made their way to their room to prepare.

They were attired in the skimpiest of garb, hidden beneath beautiful floor-skimming coats of a nameless dark hue, blacker than black. The club was waiting for them, and they would not disappoint. Louis wondered what expense all of this had incurred - the trip itself, and the privilege of performing - but Lestat waved it off as nothing. "Anything to bring you pleasure." Louis amended this: "And I suppose you get nothing out of it?"

Lestat chuckled. "Well, of course - I get something out of it. Merely as an afterthought, you understand."

"Of course."

The club was small, intimate, less ostentatious than many of the ones in the US, but then, the French tended to prefer substance over showmanship. They checked their coats, with the cloakroom attendant giving them an appraising once-over, lingering upon Louis' form. There were approximately twenty other enthusiasts in attendance, and the play-space had been suitably transformed into a makeshift theater. Louis felt all eyes on them as they situated themselves upon the stage - him, bent over a medical table, with Stat taking up his position behind.

Lestat blindfolded Louis, feeling his pulse in his temples as Louis placed himself in his power. The restraints were leather cuffs, tethered by steel, the leather worn soft by so many human hands over so many years of enjoyment. The contrast between the cold metal surface and the warm leather around his wrists, coupled with the sensory deprivation of being blinded, began to push Louis into that sub headspace he needed. Off-balance and out of control were states most mortals strove to avoid, but the audience here understood the freedom those states could bring, and they were going to enjoy this, living vicariously through the brat Dom or the beautiful sub, depending on their preference.

Louis felt the first implement of torture - Stat's hands. Cold, cruel, strong with age and experience, they could deliver the softest hint of a caress, followed by the most brutal blow. Louis didn't know which he craved more, and that was part of the thrill. Lestat would decide which he received, and how many, and how long.... Louis rested his cheek against the metal, willing himself to submit.

The hands traced shapes and patterns upon the skin of his back, setting his muscles at ease in preparation for what was to come. Those same hands trailed fingers down his sides, his secretly ticklish spots, making Louis shiver, before moving lower and gripping Louis through the leather of his briefs. He knew that he would end up naked, exposed to these voyeurs, and the idea both terrified and aroused him. As if reading his thoughts, Lestat began to tug at the sides of the briefs, inching them down bit by torturous bit. When the briefs were touching the floor, Louis lifted each foot by turns, allowing Lestat to remove them. He could hear the audience, the cadence of each whimper and sigh, the tempo of each person's breathing; the cacophony was almost too much for his senses, but then - oh, then - the pain began.

SMACK!!!

A collective exhale filled the space, joining with the rush of breath escaping Louis' lungs. He was glad he couldn't read his lover's mind, for he needed the element of surprise, this mortal sense of helplessness. Louis could smell the arousal of the women and a good number of the men, and that meant Stat could, too. They were arousing these mortals, these strangers! Louis' body was turning them on - his body, and the pain Lestat was inflicting upon it. Lestat, for his part, was dressed in a leather harness which criss-crossed his torso in a lewd black X, paired with tight black pants and killer boots with a slight heel (he was vain about his short stature, and this was a performance, after all - suspension of disbelief and all that). His hand made contact with Louis' ass over and over, varying the lapses between each stroke, leaving Louis panting, waiting and dreading at the same time. This was the warm-up, Louis knew; Lestat never stopped with a hand-spanking. How long had he been bent over this table, his hard cock betraying his arousal, taking blow after blow from his lover's hand? It was time to ratchet things up a notch.

At a word from Stat, an attendee handed up a riding crop. Louis could hear his lover testing the weight of it against his palm, feeling how the metal studs would strike his flesh, pondering whether it would leave a mark in his ass, branding him. "Mine," Stat whispered, but loudly - a stage whisper, exaggerated, for the benefit of all present. "Mine - aren't you, Louis? Mine to torture, mine to release.. Isn't that so?"

Louis moaned, his voice breaking with love. "Yes, Sire. I am yours."

"Do you want to be released?"

Another moan, with Louis trying to shake his head no. He couldn't turn his head, had to lay it against the table, come what may. "No, Sire. I want this. I want pain."

"Pain? Do you deserve pain? Do you deserve my attentions, Louis, my pet?"

Louis twitched within his restraints; it was the slightest movement, but of course, Lestat noticed it. "Did you just try your restraints? Are you trying to anger your Sire?"

Louis braced himself for the reprimanding strike. "I moved, Sire. I'm sorry. I - "

The riding crop made a delicious high-pitched whistle as it cut through the air, though no mortal could hear it. The sting as it made contact with Louis' ass made him cry out, made his cock jerk in approval, and made several attendees bite their lower lips or dampen their seats. The subs in the room knew precisely how that felt - only, they truly didn't; the pain, and the pleasure following, were so heightened in the undead, so much richer. Defining the difference would be like trying to describe God; there were no adequate words to convey the ripples of bliss flowing through Louis at his lover's violent ministrations.

"Be still, and take all I have to give you!" Lestat did not shout, but there was an edge to his voice as cold as the steel of the table. He was entering the Sire headspace, the cruelty Louis normally despised, but which was so welcome in the bedroom. The crop claimed Louis' ass, the backs of his thighs, his back.. The audience squirmed, straining to see, loving the cries Louis made, the triumph and power on Stat's face, and the increasing force of the blows. Stat was on fire, playing to the audience; his hard-on was tenting the leather, a fact which had not gone unnoticed by the crowd. He loved Louis, and part of that meant giving Louis the pain he so needed and deserved. "Oh, pet, you've been such a bad one - but I can absolve you. Tell me your sins, and take your penance, love; tell your Sire what you've done."

Louis found the breath to speak somewhere, drawing it from a well of endorphins and adrenaline. "Sire.. My sins. I have lusted after you, Sire, have fantasized and stroked my cock thinking of you and the pain you give me. I have orgasmed without permission."

Stat accepted another implement of pain from the attendant - a simple rope flogger. This one was crafted with care, soaked in oil first to preserve its smoothness, and had been well-used. There were microscopic bits of its previous recipients embedded in its fibers, scenting of their fear, their pain, and their desire. Lestat wanted to tongue its length, tasting that history, but he needed to maintain at least a façade of control here. He could not fail Louis, nor his adoring fans. As Louis felt the crop's blows cease, he relaxed for a moment, his breath a steamy film on the table - and then the rope bit into him, making him gasp. Louis felt his body tense as the rope criss-crossed his skin; this would leave welts, of that he was certain, and he welcomed it. Lestat always made such exquisite marks upon him, and he loved pressing the welts and bruises in the days following, like an instant-replay button for the pain that had created them. Stat had made marks no mortal eye could see, marks upon his heart and his immortal soul, and it seemed fitting to have some outward sign of this. Everyone in this room knew and understood that Louis belonged to Lestat, just as Lestat belonged to Louis. Each movement of the flogger was an extension of his passion. The tool in his hand became another part of his body, so that he could feel Louis' wonderful pain with each blow.

"Such wicked sins! This pain will cleanse you, my precious, so that you will be worthy of me again."

Ah, trust Lestat to incorporate religious ideology into their sex-play. The Brat Priest? Farcical. And yet, no one was laughing. Louis' face was a study of pain, yet he was riding wave after wave of lust and pleasure. He made Louis count the blows, forty lashes less one, like the whipping of the Christ before He was crucified. The crowd called out for more, and Lestat administered one more lash, making it forty even. The shackles were undone, and Louis waited, not daring to move until his Sire commanded it.

"Stand up, Louis. You've taken your punishment; now it is time for the reward. This will show I've forgiven you."

Louis felt Stat's hands bearing down upon his shoulders, forcing him to kneel. He heard the fumbling of the leather being pushed down and out of the way, exposing Stat's perfectly formed cock. "Suck it, Louis." The attendants moved the table out of the way, giving everyone a clearer view of the action as Louis reverently took Lestat into his mouth as far as he could, wetting his length before drawing it back out. He knew what the mortals wanted: to see every detail, graphic, shocking, delicious - and he would not fail them. He knew, most of all, that this would please Lestat - and Louis so wanted to do this, to show his love and devotion by pleasing his lover in front of witnesses.

"Oh, you love your Sire's cock, don't you, Louis? Show the people how much you love this cock." Louis laved Stat's length with his tongue, the sides first, then the top, and finally the underside, before nuzzling into his balls. Lestat gripped Louis by the hair, pulling it hard, making Louis moan. "That's right. You know what I like, and you know what you need to do. You need this - the pain, the humiliation - don't you, my pet?"

Louis affirmed that he did. Then, his mouth full once again as he took his Sire's cock as deep as he could, he said nothing more. One of the Doms in the front began to finger his sub, making her watch the show as he did so; Stat caught her gaze, locking eyes with her until she had to look away, ashamed, exposed. "Louis, our audience is getting excited. Perhaps I've been stingy; perhaps I ought to select someone from the crowd, and make you service them as you're servicing me? Would you enjoy that, Louis?"

The idea of having to service a stranger - a MORTAL stranger - made Louis rock-hard, and he whispered that he wanted whatever his Sire wanted. Lestat went on. "Perhaps I should let one of the onlookers have their way with your hole - while you service another with your mouth. What of that, my love?" Louis felt close to the limit of his endurance, answering in a strangled voice that he would submit to whatever his Sire wished. Lestat had to top this. "Or perhaps, I could let each of them use you in any way they wished, until everyone in the room had had their fill of you?"

G-d, Louis couldn't remember being this close to orgasm from words alone. The pain was still pulsing through his body like a drug, altering his consciousness, and his lover's voice seemed to be putting him into some sort of trance or swoon. Other moans and whispers came from the voyeurs as they began to participate in their own displays, and the smell of sex was growing stronger. Louis could taste their flavors mixed with his lover's, and Stat knew what he needed, even before he himself knew.

"Stroke yourself, Louis. Stroke your cock as you make me cum into that pretty mouth. Let them all see."

Louis, grateful to the point of tears, began to stroke his own rod, shuddering under the strain of his need for release. He suckled at his lover, forming a tight seal over Stat's cock and bobbing faster and faster, hoping they would reach a simultaneous peak. Lestat held him by the back of the head, Louis struggling to multi-task with his hand and his mouth, until he gave in and let them both move to the same rhythm. Stat gave him permission to cum, just before his speech was lost in a long cry of release. Louis swallowed every spurt, tasting the first salty mouthful just as his own cock burst forth in a shower of hot love. The crowd let out a moan, followed by scattered applause. Louis rested his head against his lover's stomach, sweaty, sated, and deliriously happy. Lestat undid the blindfold and led him, still naked, to a seat in the audience. It was time for him to watch another lucky pet take their punishment, and the night was young.

\-----------------------------------------------  
The second evening in Paris was spent in more ordinary tourist activities - with one exception. Several hours before dawn, Lestat began to lead Louis down a series of back-alleys, leaving him disoriented and unable to get his bearings. "Where are you taking me, my wicked one?" There was no condemnation in his tone; only curiosity and mild apprehension. Stat simply laughed, the tinkling of a bell, and led him onward.

Louis began to get a sense of Stat's thinking as the neighborhoods became increasingly seedy and run-down. "Ah, here we are!"

Louis blinked, then blinked again. "Pigalle, mon chou?"

Lestat's face was a study in innocence. "Naturally. I hear the rooms are dark as pitch, they charge exorbitant entry fees and tag on over-priced drinks, and the girls are, shall we say, inhospitable in accommodating tourists."

Sure enough, a woman sauntered up to them and began shepherding Louis into a dimly-lit doorway. "Ah, this way, this way! Come and see us!" Lestat followed behind, amused as the hen invited the foxes into her coop. Louis watched as his lover handed over the entry fee without complaining, and they were led down a narrow flight of stairs. The room was, as Lestat had said, very dark, though of course they could see better than their hostesses. The barman was a surly fellow, disgusted with them, disgusted with the girls, and disgusted with himself. Three women in total were positioned on the edge of a small stage, counting the one who had brought them here. A bottle of champagne was brought to the table, which Lestat politely sent back; they couldn't partake of it, and he saw no reason to waste it on these girls (who were already well-lubricated by the evening's previous guests).

A second woman was selected by her associates to approach the men and work her charms. "Would you like me to dance for you?" Louis was embarrassed, not by her boldness, nor by her body - he had enjoyed his share of women in the past, and was used to modern females propositioning men - but by the fact that his lover would be watching. Money changed hands before Louis could protest, and the 'dance' - more of a dry hump, really, and a rather graceless one at that - began.

Her efforts at mewling and making sexy eye contact left Louis mortified, much to Stat's great delight. This was so unnatural, so debasing, so.. un-French, it was borderline farce. "Please, Stat, pay her to stop." His plea was softer than a breath, too low for mortals to hear, and it went unheeded. "Ah, yes, you like that," she purred, and it did seem that at least one part of Louis was showing appreciation for her movements, though the woman had grossly misinterpreted his intentions. It was not her exposed breasts, her cupid's bow lips, or her firm derriere which had him aroused; it was the scent of her, the pulse of her jugular, the liquid nourishment flowing through her and giving her life, which had him at half-mast. He nuzzled her neck without thinking, grazing her skin with his parched lips. It had now been over twenty-four hours since he had fed, and with every passing moment, her blood seemed more appealing. "Stat, for her life, you must.. she must stop this."

Stat merely raised one finely-plucked brow, as if to say, "Well? Get on with it. Do what it is you need to do."

Louis placed a hand on either hip, which she took as an encouragement. Perhaps she would get to complete this transaction; and as a bonus, he was rather handsome, if pale. She felt the rasp of his lips on her skin again, and the hands on her hips stilled her undulations. The first prick of his teeth barely registered; he had honed his skills over the centuries, and the pain was pleasurable. She did not know she was bleeding, did not know she would be dead within a few minutes, and she whispered encouragements. Louis flashed back to the tavern in New Orleans all those years ago, that beautiful serving girl with cinnamon skin and raven hair; he remembered the sweetness of her tongue, the tongue he had suckled and drained, the ripe flush of her face, the salt of the skin on her wrist.. He had truly not meant to kill her, though, looking back, he wondered what he could have said or done to keep her quiet, had she survived.

He drank from her again, having had barely a taste; this time, he suckled for a few seconds before releasing her. Perhaps a little nip on each nipple.. She liked that, oh yes, arching her back, pressing herself into his mouth.. Did she feel it, what he was doing to her? She had been roughed up and babied, abused and adored, by so many before him; perhaps she couldn't feel pain like a normal woman, nor pleasure, either. How sad, how unutterably pathetic; he pitied her. Lestat did not pity her, not the way Louis did; he joined in, taking up her wrist, and she was limp, allowing him to do so. There was no sound but her breathing and keening, no sound to betray their deeds as they pulled the life out of her. Lestat saw it from beginning to end, the horrors of her youth which had led her here, people and events which had broken her and led her to this place. As Louis drew upon her nipple, tugging it with the flat of his normal teeth between sips, he tasted it. On a few occasions, Louis had fed from the desperate, those whom truly wanted to leave this life, despite whatever outward image they presented. As he approached the point of no return, when there would be no hope of reviving her by any means, he tasted that essence in her. It shocked him, and he drew back, staring at her face in incomprehension.

The woman, whose name was Laurette, looked down at him, her eyes half-lidded, then opening wider. Something clouded there became clear, and she stared down at him, without fear, without reproach. "Why did you stop? Don't you like it? Won't I do for tonight?" My God, she knew - she KNEW, though it made no sense. How could she know? Lestat continued to suck, though he had slowed, listening to her words. "Your friend likes it. Can't you do it, monsieur?" Lestat moaned into her skin, which was as close as he ever came to thanking anyone for a meal. She was offering herself to them, the gift of her blood, her life, and Louis felt as if he were committing adultery against the entire human race. This scene defied all the laws of morality and nature, and his head was burning, spinning as though he'd had absinthe.

"Louis, for God's sake, she doesn't mind. Do you, precious?" He stroked her hair, followed the caress down her back, to the parting of her buttocks. She leaned against him, woozy now, but not afraid. "No pain, Louis. No pain." How dare he echo Armand's words from that long-ago night? It was enough to make Louis want to overturn the table, to push his way past the security, back to the street level, to surface above these depths of madness..

"Please. Don't stop. I need this.. I need what you can give me." This woman was begging for death, and it sickened him. "Why?"

The other girls were giggling and whispering nervously, possibly discussing who would be up next, or how strangely the tourists were behaving compared to their fellow countrymen..

"Why not? Just me. Spare them, won't you? They may have a chance, but not for me. Not for me.."

She traced the marks on her wrist, then fingered the opening at her neck, rubbing the crimson stain between her fingertips, straining to see it in the dark. "Don't leave me undone." She smiled, but it was a watery smile, as if she would cry.

Lestat stood behind her, finding the dip in the nape of her neck, licking between sucks, making her shiver. Louis crumpled into himself, then found his nerve, taking her neck again. Her last utterance was a faint, "Yes.. yes.. the pain.."

Laurette was still, slumped as if in sleep. Louis gently eased her off of his lap, and Lestat sat once again, cradling her in his arms, her head resting upon his chest. "Now, love, go and play with the others - but, nicely. Play nicely."

Louis was astonished, but did as he was told. The other women entertained him, one of them dancing and whispering filth while the other worked Louis' hard length with her trained hands. Lestat watched, occasionally placing a kiss upon Laurette's head and whispering to her, laughing softly as if sharing a private little joke. Could hell itself have devised a scene more perverse, a greater mockery of the sanctity of life, than this? Louis found his body responding against his will, as if Lestat had all of them under some spell. His lover watched from his seat as two whores made Louis cum, seated at the edge of a stage. The barman grunted, then resumed his duties; had he enjoyed the spectacle? Louis staggered toward the stairs as Stat settled the bill. How much did they owe for bringing about a whore's death, for assisting in her suicide? Should the establishment sue for lost wages, or pay them for a mercy killing?

The police will come, Louis told himself; we will never get out of Paris, never.. How would vampires fare in prison? Back on street level, Lestat placed a hand firmly on his fellow's shoulder. "Now, friend, we run." They returned to their hotel in a blur, packed in a blur, and headed for the airport. Seated on the plane, miles above the land Louis loved, he struggled to find words.

"How did you find her, and why?"

Lestat shrugged. "Why not? She wanted it, Louis; she longed for death. I found her by her call. She sent out a call for an end to her suffering, and we answered that call. It is as simple and as complicated as that."

"But they think we are humans, which makes us murderers! They will look for us, Stat; they will -"

Lestat shook his head. "She was a junkie, my love. The marks were from the needles; her pimp, the barman, injected her almost daily. The wounds are small, and her heart was weak. Who is going to mourn a dead whore, other than her pimp, a man with bodies on his conscience? Rest easy, friend; we are safe."

Safe? There was no such thing, no such place for anyone, least of all their kind.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next stop was Germany - Berlin, to be precise. There was a little dungeon near the Platz der Luftbrucke which Lestat was dying to see. "Berlin is the fetish capital of the world, mon cher," Lestat prattled on, sounding like some perverse travel guide. "They even have a ball every year! Can you imagine! All that flesh on display.." Louis wasn't sure if his lover was hungry, horny, or both. He was leaning towards both.

Louis had not gotten the taste of the whore out of his mouth or his mind. "Forget her. She's better off. Imagine, having to have sex for pay, not getting to choose the who and the what, and where it all fits into you. Yes; imagine.." Louis could tell his companion was forming some new torment for him, and a fresh wave of lust and adoration overtook him. 

The club required that all would-be attendees arrive nude or semi-nude. This was out of Louis' comfort zone; he had never in all his many years been completely naked on a public street for all to see. Many of the people in line were totally bare, and Louis found himself admiring the intricate tattoos and intimate piercings in places he'd never dreamt of putting such adornments. Lestat wore a fetching pair of leather chaps, which would have looked ridiculous on most men, but somehow suited him. His hair was pulled back into a sharp ponytail, and he was bare to the waist, enjoying the appraising looks of others in line. Louis was wearing - or was the garment wearing him? - a leather codpiece, in which he felt worse than if he had been naked. "It's not too late to take it off, my love, though it would rather spoil the tease," Stat murmured to him. Louis said nothing, and soon they were ushered into the dim space.

Lestat led his partner to the dance floor. "Oh, Stat, please; whip me, shackle me, impale me with objects, but please, do NOT make me dance! I haven't a graceful bone in my body for this modern style!" Lestat laughed. "Ah, we SHALL dance, Cinderella, for all to see. It is not your dancing prowess which will attract them, but the parts of you making the movements." He wasn't finished. "And, to be sure, you will have all that you have requested before the night ends. Now, let's dance!" Lestat had a rhythm to his ordinary movements, as if he was always in step with some internal tune. Louis had been passable in the eighteenth century, learning the fashionable steps so that he could keep up with polite society, though he had found the practice joyless and stifling. So much better to be able to move in an individual way, to be free to press one's body close to another, to.. A woman approached, interrupting his thoughts. She addressed Lestat, clearly assuming him to be the master here.

"Excuse me," she began, her thick accent telling them she was a local rather than a tourist. "Is this your pet?"

Stat laughed good-naturedly. "Yes, madam, he is. Would you care to take him for a walk, or perhaps a turn around the dance floor? You may play with my pet, but you must pay for the privilege." Louis felt like a piece of meat at the grand boucherie as the woman circled him, surveying his form and looking for - what? Muscle? Prowess? Bruises? What did she want; what turned her on and made her decide to sport with one man as opposed to another? With something halfway between nerves and wounded pride, Louis waited as she completed her inspection. "A fine specimen, is he not?" Stat was enjoying the joke, referring to him as though he was a show-horse or a pure-bred dog. "Indeed," she agreed, playing along. "How much to borrow him for an hour?" Louis was horrified. In his day, the negotiation of a whore's services was a shameful thing, done in whispers, the last resort of the desperate - and here they were, in a crowded room, surrounded by writhing bodies, putting a price on his body and the acts it could perform!

Lestat and the woman, whose name was Nadette, had a discussion out of earshot. While money changed hands, Louis was instructed to keep dancing until told otherwise. Finally, he heard his lover say, "Will you bring him back in one piece, madam?" She gave assurances that she would, and Stat had a private word with Louis.

"You do exactly as she says. She is your Madam for the next hour. If I receive an unfavorable report from her, you will be severely punished. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sire."

"Good boy. Now, off you go."

Louis wondered whether Lestat would engage in anything while he was occupied with Nadette. He wasn't jealous, merely curious. Nadette led him to a small room equipped for the purposes she had in mind. There was a gymnast's horse in the center, shackles on the wall, another set of shackles suspended from the ceiling above a spreader bar with cuffs, a medical table, and a tool rack on another wall, holding a variety of crops, canes, and other devices for easy access. "Your owner was bragging about your tolerance for pain. We shall see." Louis swallowed, feeling some of the tension leave him; if his pain was all she desired from him, the hour would pass quickly. He could endure a beating or a caning, fulfill her silly little desires, her fantasy of vengeance on mankind -

"Would you prefer the sex before, or after?"

Surely she was joking. Was she truly going to take it all from him, make him perform like some gigolo for a perfect stranger? "Pardon, Madam?"

The shackles were cold, but not as cold as her eyes. They were a few degrees warmer than Claudia's, and just as clear, as..knowing, as hers had been. That unnerved him, and he felt panic rising in his throat. "You heard my question. Last chance. Before, or after?"

Perhaps after she had tortured him, he would be numb to her kisses and caresses, to her mouth or her sheath or whatever orifice she would insert him into. "After," he sighed, and she mistook it for a sign of passion, rather than resignation.

"Very well. It's how I prefer it."

She hadn't asked for his safe-word, nor had he thought to offer one. "Madam.."

"Silence. No words; only sounds. Your owner will want a good report."

He pulled on the chains, faster than she could see, though she heard them jangle. They were strong, strong enough to hold him; he'd have to pull down a chunk of ceiling in order to get loose. Nadette's hands peeled away the codpiece, revealing his semi-erect member. "We'll soon have that at full mast," she purred, caressing his ass cheek, feeling the moisture left by the leather. He did not desire her in any way, did not want her touch nor care about her pleasure - and yet he felt the familiar anticipation begin to build inside him as she secured the blindfold. "Now the feet. Ankles apart." Louis did as he was told, and the spreader did what it was designed to do. The most vulnerable part of him hung down, exposed, open to whatever she desired. He heard her selecting an implement, walking back and forth in the sound-proofed space - and then there was another sound, a whirring, something opening.

"Your owner will be watching. I thought as much," she chuckled, patting him on the rear. "I wouldn't want to leave you out of my sight too long if you were mine." There must be a window, a way for people to watch what goes on in this room. He was to be a spectacle for her, and for Stat, and who knows who else. As if reading his thoughts, she went on. "There is someone with him. I wonder what they'll get up to while I punish you? Hmm?"

The lady was a devil with a bull-whip. The first blow sent his body rigid, then limp, smarting from her accuracy. He could imagine Lestat's smile, impressed by the woman's skill, and it made him determined to please his audience. He needed his lover's approval, and it was worth any pain. The whip got her started, got her breathing harder, her arm warmed up for the tasks ahead. Then there was the cane - not bamboo, but steel. The sound was terrible, and he cried out, but not as loudly as a mortal would have. She landed blow after blow: buttocks, thighs, even one across his calves. Louis could smell Lestat through the glass, his arousal; was he..? "Your owner is getting a helping hand from his new friend," Nadette confided. "He must like what he sees."

Tiring of the cane, she next brandished a cat o' nine tails, its metal barbs stinging and temporarily marking his ass and back. To him, it was no different than when Stat bit into him during love-play, and his audience was impressed by his endurance. He didn't count the blows, simply absorbed them, one after another, until she changed tack once more. "This will administer mild electric shocks. Let's see what happens..."

Electric shocks? This was something new. What would it do to him?

The violet wand pressed against his thigh, sending waves of painful pleasure down through his leg and upward into his groin. The other thigh received the same treatment, with the same result. Louis was incredibly hard, the energy pulsing through him like an orgasm. The wand pressed closer and closer to his own wand, until Nadette let him feel its force directly upon his member. "My God!" A thousand suns burst behind his eyelids; how could any mortal stand this? Louis, of course, could not have a heart attack, nor could he be electrocuted to death, but, oh, how this must feel to someone who could!

"I'm going to turn down the charge on it now. Can you guess where I'm going to put it next?" Louis shook his head no; Lestat was laughing, getting off on his lover's discomfort. The wand was prepped with gel, placed on its lowest setting, and eased its way into Louis. He felt Nadette moving in front of him, positioning herself so she could watch his rod spasm and jerk as she shocked him, her hand still busily working the toy. Lestat was close, but holding back, wanting to see Louis service Nadette in whatever way she chose.  
"Had enough pain, my pet?"

Louis wasn't sure what to answer; he knew he would not leave that room until she was satisfied, so what did it matter what he said? "My wishes are your wishes, Madam." She considered this for a moment.

"I'm going to free you from your restraints now. You'll be a good boy, won't you?"

"Yes, Madam." His wrists were chafed and mildly burning, his ankles stiff. Nadette led him down from the spreader bar and over to the medical table.

"On the table, on your back. That's it." He felt the cool steel under him, imagining the steamy imprint of his ass on its surface. "You're going to pleasure me now." Dear God, what would she require of him? He hoped this part would end quickly; not to be boastful, but women were typically easy for him to satisfy. Stat, on the other hand.. Louis felt Nadette straddling him, lowering herself onto his member as the last of the electric shocks coursed through him. How his lover must be laughing at him, watching this mad thing ride him like a prized stallion as he lay, unmoved, willing her to finish. The tortures she had inflicted upon his naked body had apparently aroused her very much, and she struggled to generate the necessary friction. Louis tried to oblige her, raising his hips to meet her rhythm, a rhythm older than himself, older even than human history. It was mechanical, clinical, hollow, and he felt so cheapened by it. What did his partner gain from this exchange? Surely she couldn't think he was enjoying it; he did not desire her, found all of this distasteful and fake. So why was his body beginning to awaken? Why was his cock growing impossibly harder inside of her? Was Lestat employing some mind-control trick upon him?

In his head, he heard his lover's voice: "Such a good little whore. Give it to her, Louis; give her what she craves, what is only truly mine. Give her her money's worth. Fuck her." Louis understood now, that it was about the head fuck, not the bodily one. He knew now what those whores he had frequented must have felt - the silliness of it, the sadness and desperation of the clientele, the faked or exaggerated moans and spasms they affected for money. He had exploited them as they exploited him, just in different ways. It was also about Lestat pushing Louis, testing him to see how far he would go, how lowly he would allow himself to become in the name of love and devotion. He began to moan, somewhat genuinely, imagining Lestat feeding off of his humiliation as he reached his own climax. "Cum inside her, Louis. She wants it. Let her take it." Louis knew better than to release his load until his Madam permitted it, and he dared not ask. As the thought finished, she stilled.

The words "Now what?" floated into his mind as he felt her shifting up higher.

"Have you ever had anyone do this to you?" Louis' mind reeled at what 'this' was referring to as the woman lowered herself onto his face. He began to lick dutifully, confused but compliant; surely she couldn't think this was the first time he'd eaten pussy? Nadette's voice became a high-pitched keening before she came with a shout. The first squirt of her urine filled his mouth, and he almost choked on it, but his habit of swallowing profuse gushes of blood made his gag reflex less sensitive than that of a mortal, and he found that this substance slid down as smoothly as the other. It was warm and surprisingly mild, much like water, but with a slight tang to it. Nadette crested another wave of ecstasy as she watched him drink her, and he could feel and hear Stat laughing and moaning on the other side of the glass. Louis' own rod released its spew, out of shock, perhaps; who could say for sure? He groaned into her mound, the stream becoming a trickle, her heartbeat ringing in his ears in that familiar thundering rhythm, only, hers went on, did not slow, did not cease like his meals' hearts.

Shaking but attempting to maintain a veneer of dominance, Nadette loosed the blindfold and helped him up. Blinking as his eyes adjusted, he took in her flushed face, glittering eyes, darkened rosebud lips. He felt hungry, and she mistook it for another appetite altogether. He would need to feed, but not here, find some poor soul in an alley somewhere and - "Your owner is waiting for you. He's cleaning up in the anteroom; I will take you to him." She led him out, and her words proved true. Stat was smiling, endorphins still flooding his body as his erection subsided.

"I see you enjoyed your work, mon ange," he teased, and Louis felt a mixture of pride and shame. He had passed this test, and had a new experience for his trouble.

"He was wonderful. Thank you for renting him to me." With that, she was gone, and the lovers were alone. Stat provided Louis with a cloak, rewarding him with a sense of modesty as they made their way back into the night.

"Tomorrow we shall enjoy a few hours of more vanilla, tourist activities, my love; then it's on to our next destination: Italy." Louis found it difficult to believe that such a gentle, pious populace could have pockets of such dark debauchery, but then again, the Vatican housed the world's largest library of pornography. Humans were so complex, both loving and hating their bodies, idolizing and decrying the pleasures the body was capable of giving and receiving. As Lestat outlined their itinerary, Louis allowed his mind to wander to the land of Armand's birth to darkness, wondering what adventures awaited them there.

Germany was a memory. Italy was magical, a heady balance of the timeless and the new. There were villages which seemed frozen in the old ways, history suspended in amber, juxtaposed with more contemporary, 'trendy' spots. The soil's aroma was unlike anything Louis had ever encountered, piquing the interest of the animalistic side of him. The people, too, smelled of the earth, the warm sun which made their skin glow even at night, and the heat of volcanoes running in their veins. He loved the Italian temperament, the mixture of boisterous hospitality and affection which could turn on a dime into an animated display of outrage. Men here held hands without anyone slinging slurs - or worse - and women were allowed to be affectionate with their peers. Families were large and closely knit, reminding him of the family he'd once had - not the one he had formed by dark means, but the family of his birth. As the lovers explored the ancient churches, Louis wondered whether how many of the angels' faces had been inspired by the artists' young loves - boys on the cusp of manhood, as Armand had been. Their faces were immortalized in painstaking detail; he could feel the ache, the longing of their makers, documenting what they knew time and death would ravage. Louis recalled the man who had once made him sit for a portrait, the feverish urgency with which he had worked, trying to capture a moment he thought would end all too soon. His work had been in vain; Louis would not 'end', not succumb to wrinkles or baldness as these subjects had. Lestat noticed that his paramour was deeply moved, and it pleased him, even as he struggled to understand.

The lines and forms of bodies - some in motion, others, in repose - enthralled him as never before. "What moves you so, my love?"

Louis chose his words carefully. "I'm not sure, mon lion. I suppose I must be picking up on the artists' emotions, their fears, their desires.. Each of them painted with such devotion to things and people which would not last."

Lestat considered this. "Is that not the driving force behind all of mankind's attempts to explain life and death, to construct and cling to a promise of the eternal? These men, many of them gay, pursued art in the name of glorifying God, when truly, they were serving their carnal lusts."

Louis looked at him, and his eyes were glacial, so cold that it gave Stat pause. "Is it not possible that they served both purposes? Man praises the work, yes, sometimes the artist - and some also praise the One inspiring that passion, the One giving that talent."

Stat smiled; it was not a bright smile, but then, Stat had moments of not being very bright. "Anything, as you so often remind me, is possible."

As the pair emerged from the church, Stat pulled Louis close. He had been the model of restraint within the hallowed walls, more out of respect for Louis' sensitivities than any fear of retribution, but his body was starved for contact. It was nearly time to indulge in two of his favorite pleasures - food and sex - and both hungers were rising. "I'd like to show you some more artwork, something a little more avant garde. I think we'll both enjoy it." Louis knew that tone, that barely-suppressed hint of a smirk; his lover had something wicked planned for them, definitely not within the realm of the spiritual. "I wager what I have in store may even be able to dislodge that Botticelli angel from your mind, at least for a while," he whispered. There was no jealousy in the words, no edge of malice; Louis' heart melted for him, for his lack of judgment. Perhaps time would heal, if not all wounds, then at least a good number of them.

"I will follow you," he sighed, and with that sweet admission, Stat spirited them away to a small gallery nestled between more traditional purveyors of clothing and foodstuffs. Stat rang the bell, and a tall Mediterranean goddess clad in all black, the uniform of the artiste, answered to admit them.

Stat whispered something to her, and she answered with soft laughter, as if they were old acquaintances sharing a private joke. He will ever be a mystery to me, my mischievous one, Louis smiled. As they made their way up a narrow flight of stairs, the woman's heels clicking with startling authority, Louis drank it all in: on every wall and in every corner there were works of art depicting the human form in various stages of undress. Not just nudes - oh no; these were photographs, paintings, sculptures, video reels of wrists bound, mouths gagged, backsides flogged. He had to slow his vision, lest he become overwhelmed; this was a gallery of torture, an exhibition of pain.

Stat ushered him over to a floor-to-ceiling canvas. The surface showed the outline of a man shackled at the wrists, suspended from the ceiling, head hung down, eyes shifted toward the viewer from beneath the locks which had fallen into his face. Was he begging for help, or begging the voyeur to see, to watch and enjoy his suffering and, in so doing, become part of it? Did the man wish to make the spectator jealous? Aroused? Both? The image was life-sized, and the artist had managed to convey the tension, the longing and the life of the subject in minimal strokes of black paint. Red welts covered the man's neck, torso and thighs, along with what seemed to be pincer-marks. At the press of a button to the right of the painting, the canvas whirred to life, rotating one hundred eighty degrees to show the flipside. This work depicted the man's backside, and a mighty fine one it was. The bruises and welts were not what was startling; no. Above the man's left buttock was a symbol Louis could not decipher, but which he recognized as having some sort of tribal origin. The lines of the mark looked three-dimensional, as if he could reach out and finger the raised skin, feel the angry pulse of the veins beneath, imagine the itch as it healed.. This man had been branded, albeit with a needle and ink. Something shifted in Louis' solar plexus as they moved on to other pieces, as he noticed that each slave bore a mark somewhere upon their person. The sculptors had scored their forms with fine tools, making a sort of tattoo in relief; each painting featured a tattoo, sometimes black, sometimes multi-hued, different sized, different body parts.. Louis had often lamented that his bruises and bite-marks healed so quickly. "Are you starting to understand?  
"You are mine, Louis. You may take other lovers, at your own discretion or at my command - but you are, and always will be, mine. It's how it should have been from the beginning; don't you see?" Louis waited, knowing there was more. Stat loved the dramatic, and he was in his element here; Louis wouldn't have spoiled his fun for the world. "I'm going to brand you, the only way I know how. The marks I leave do not stay, and I know how it pains you. I know how you press the bruises, willing them to deepen, to mark your soul." The other people in the gallery melted away, becoming as lifeless as the artwork, as Stat looked him dead in the eye. "The smallest motion or briefest word, and I will take you out of here, Louis. I will take you away from this place, unmarked. But if you stay.." He looked at Louis' hands, holding them in his own. "If you stay, it means you agree to be branded, a mark which only you and I will understand, but which will say to all the universe that you are eternally mine. Will you stay, Louis?"

The younger man made the only decision which made sense to him. "I will stay."

Lestat motioned to the raven-haired beauty, and she smiled, nodding. "She will take us to the room, the room where they will place my mark upon you - a mark of my choosing." The words thrilled Louis; in a sense, he was moved. No one had ever loved him enough to mark him as their own. A ring could be lost, stolen, or cast away; but a tattoo? A tattoo was for life. In a room bare of all furniture save the only pieces that mattered - a chair, and, beside it, a stool - Louis was told to undress. He did so, waiting patiently as Lestat perused the various designs, the flora and fauna, the esoteric symbols, the 'sailor's specials,'... Louis knew he would choose something tasteful - after all, Lestat was nothing if not discerning, and he was going to have to live with this tattoo, too - and probably discreet. Lestat loved knowing what others did not, and having a tattoo placed on Louis in a hidden spot would suit that purpose forever. The tattoo artist appeared, an impeccably-dressed man with hair darker than the night and a keen gleam in his eye. He prepped the tools: the needles, the inks, the sterile pads, the bandage..

"I have chosen. This tattoo shall be placed right - " Lestat's hand gripped Louis' left hip, just below where his waistband would sit when he wasn't naked. "You are not to look, Louis. You are to situate yourself on this chair and stay very still. If you look, move, or make a sound.." He didn't have to finish the threat; leaving it open-ended made it more potent. He was trembling, ready to obey. The room was warm, and the chair welcomed his prone form as the artist's needle sprang to life. The fact that he had no idea what the mark would be, the mark he would bear forever, made him feel incredibly vulnerable. He was giving Stat a gift, the gift of his trust, his devotion, his body. "Every inch of me is yours," he wanted to say, but he knew he must remain silent until the work was done. The sting was unexpected, a new sensation; was it worse for mortals? He bled, of course. Did this man know he was inking a member of the immortal race? Would he have balked at that revelation? At least Louis' body responded in a 'normal' fashion - until it didn't. He felt himself getting hard, his member pressed into the chair. Stat sensed it, laughing. "Enjoy it, Louis. Relish the experience."

He felt himself gritting his teeth at one point, almost laughing at himself. How utterly human! He had endured worse pain than this. Perhaps it was the psychological element which had him on edge. No matter. The artist was as gentle as he could be under the circumstances, making no unnecessary movements, making sure each touch was perfect and precise. The smell was strange, but soon he became accustomed to it. It would help him recall the memory in years to come; scent was one of his favorite senses, and he was glad that vampires got to enjoy it to such a heightened degree. For one brief moment, Louis panicked; what if it was some morbid sentiment, some reminder of a love he'd lost? Would Stat do that to him? No; he dismissed the notion. Lestat loved him, and only hurt him for their mutual pleasure. At any rate, the work was soon finished, made simpler by the fact that it was all in black - Lestat and his aesthetics, he would've hated seeing a riot of color permanently etched on his lover's body! - and Louis was told to rise.

The artist produced a standing mirror, wheeling it over to place it directly behind Louis. "You may look now, love. You've done well." Louis peered over his shoulder, straining to see. The tattoo was of a lion - full-maned, wise-eyed, head tilted slightly down so that he seemed to be looking up at the viewer. He was majestic, sensual, and seemed to have the barest hint of a closed smile.

"Stat, it's magnificent. Truly."

Lestat fairly beamed. "I had hoped you would like it." After the requisite clean-up and bandaging, Louis was permitted to dress. "I must take care not to beat you in that spot for a while, at least, lest I mar his handiwork. But no matter - there are plenty of other tortures I can inflict upon you in the meantime." Louis knew Lestat would make good on that threat/promise.

"I had wanted to wait until the end of the night to give you your gift, Louis, but I couldn't. I simply had to.." He was too excited, as evidenced by his breathlessness, his inarticulate gait, and the lust simmering in his eyes. "There are other rooms here, Louis, with painful delights you've never imagined. Shall we?"

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Amsterdam seemed so low-brow compared to Italy. Once again, Stat had done his homework; not for him the ordinary - not for his dark angel. The club was underground in every sense of the word, and it felt like a tomb. "The locals call it 'The Crypt,' Stat teased, his tongue snaking into Louis' ear as he whispered. Much of the crowd was under the influence, which displeased Louis; he was not in the mood to soothe his conscience, and playing with drugged mortals smacked of violation. There were some present, however, who were more sober than not, and it was to these people Lestat was leading him.

In a large room on the lowest level, Louis could smell blood, could practically taste it as they drew nearer. The sound of flesh being pierced, inaudible to mortals, was loud and close to the lovers, a curious and unmistakable noise. The beautiful one's eyes flashed bright with amazement as he took on the import of what was happening: mortals were deliberately piercing one another for pleasure, rather than for decorative purposes. The piercings were open, ready to be removed at the end of play, unlike permanent piercings. A topless woman lay prone on her front atop a medical table, while attendants on either side of her threaded green and purple ribbons through freshly-made holes made in the flesh of her back, lacing her up like a corset. A man was counting out loud as straight pin-like needles were placed sideways through the skin of each pec, forming a grotesque symmetry which made Louis' eyes water. These thoroughly modern and proud freaks were taking photos of one another's handiwork - with permission, of course - as the effects were to be temporary. Along the far wall was a veritable gallery of piercings, memorialized and celebrated. "It gets worse, my love," Lestat warned; "brace yourself." Entering the smaller room adjoining that one, the lovers found a station for more permanent disfigurement. "Stat, what are they -"

"Shhh. Watch."

A young man was bound and gagged to a chair, much like a dentist's chair. His eyes did not show fear; rather, they were glazed with a blend of lust and impatience. Louis watched as another man prepared the tools for the job, a sense of foreboding swirling behind his navel. If he could have paled, he would have, watching as if in slow motion as a hole was driven through the head of a man's cock. The muffled moan rumbling against the ball gag was one of pleasure, his body spasming as if in the throes of ecstasy. As the man's lover began to provide aftercare, Stat turned to Louis. Every surface was wiped down, every tool disposed of, the chair now empty... waiting.  
"Stat.."

"Where is it to be, my love? I am rather enamored of the tattoo, and I'd like to see your body decorated, bejeweled in some way. Perhaps here..", he said, plucking at Louis' nipples, "or here.." His hands moved lower to just above Louis' hips, pinching the skin there. "Or maybe.."

"No. Please."

Lestat's eyes sparked to that. "No?"

Louis realized he had committed a serious infraction. More of a transgression, really. What was to be his consequence? Had he really just said no, without any address of respect, without any groveling, in front of these people? That could not go unpunished. He dared not speak now, not even to apologize, unless he was commanded to do so. Mutely, Louis made his way to the chair, the smell of antiseptic stronger to him than to the mortals. Lestat caressed his hair, and the gentleness of it was more frightening than a blow. This, Louis knew, was the calm before the storm.

"Now, my pet. How have you wronged your Sire?"

Louis blinked back tears of humiliation, ashamed of his own carelessness. "Sire, I spoke out of turn. I did not address you with the proper respect. I refused you when you needed something - wanted something of me."

Lestat nodded, but it was clipped. "And what do you suppose your punishment should be?"

Louis wasn't sure what to answer. Did he really get to name his own punishment, or was this a test? He could not afford to fail again.

"I only desire to please you, Sire. Do with me as you wish."

"And if I wish to pierce you, once, twice, fifty times, you will submit to it?"

"Yes, Sire."

Lestat paced back and forth, considering, drawing out the anticipation. "Very well. You shall be pierced." He leaned toward the man who had performed the previous piercing, engaging in hushed conversation with him. They had reached an agreement on the matter, though Louis was left in the dark. "This is not your punishment," Lestat warned; "this would have taken place even if you had not misbehaved. Bear that in mind."

The punishment was still to come, hanging over him until Lestat saw fit to let it fall. Louis hoped that, when it did, it would crush him and grind him to powder.

Louis closed his eyes, trying to block out the visual of what was to occur. This heightened his sense of smell, hearing, and touch, making him rethink closing his eyes. "I want you to watch," the voice warned, and Louis obeyed, eyelids popping open like a doll's. The needle was headed for his left nipple, and he saw it, watched the flesh as it was run through, a ring left in place as the tool withdrew. The pain was exquisite, his cock hardening in an instant, and he knew it wasn't over yet. The right nipple was next, receiving the same treatment; now he had two silver hoops winking up at him from his chest. Pain radiated through his torso, sending jolts to his groin, making him squirm in his chair.

"Obey."

The word was menacing, especially as two men began to remove Louis' lower clothing. His erection was shameless, revealing itself as the air hit his skin. Louis felt a hand grip his cock, felt the preparations begin, a ball gag being moved into place, silencing him, though he wouldn't beg, wouldn't cry out for all the world, ready to submit, ready to obey... A fresh tool was readied, and Louis braced himself, lips pressing against the hard rubber... and then, at a signal from Lestat, the men backed away. Louis, still braced, still holding his breath, was hurled into confusion. Lestat removed the gag, kissing Louis on the mouth, hard, his breathing ragged. "You would have let me pierce the most delicate part of you, wouldn't you?" "Of course, Sire." Was there truly ever any doubt? Lestat gently flicked the nipple rings, then tested them with a tug. Searing pain flooded Louis, and he moaned. "I'd like to see a fine silver chain linking these," he thought out loud, and it was done. Lestat had a long track record of getting his way, and this was one more example of it. Louis admired the beauty of the chain, though he realized with a pang of sadness that a second length of chain leading down to his manhood would have been a sight to behold, linking all three sensitive parts like that, allowing Lestat to lead him around by it.. "Another time, Louis. I want you to be in fine form during the rest of the trip; it simply wouldn't do to have your member out of commission. Recovery time and all that." Lestat could play off the delay as self-serving all he wanted; Louis saw it for what it was - a display of his love and concern.


	2. Spain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More adventures

"Wasn't that fun?" Lestat was reliving for the nth time the embarrassing ordeal of Louis' new piercings (which he could not yet remove) setting off the airport metal detectors. Louis had composed his most dignified face as the wand passed over him, confirming the rings' location, but Lestat had laughed freely. 

"Yes, my love. You do so enjoy shocking humans - and letting them live to tell about it," Louis teased. "I'm glad I could be of service to you."

Louis wondered what was in store for him. This was to be their final stop in Europe before heading to Asia, and Lestat was in especially high spirits.

The taxi ride from the airport seemed to take hours, but that could have been because Louis was so hungry. "Soon," Lestat promised, sensing his needs without words. "It would save on fare if we.."

Louis shook his head, smiling. "No. Even the most wicked have their standards, 'Stat."

"Very well. Someone else. So picky," he muttered, making sure his lover could hear him. 

The hotel was.. rustic, without the usual modern amenities. Lestat seemed to pay little mind to their lodgings; he was anxious to get to the next venue. "I know we often disagree on matters of faith, Louis, but tonight will be a shared experience of spiritual ecumenicism."

Louis tried not to laugh. "I'm not sure you know what you're saying, dear, but I am intrigued." 

The 'venue' was a former barn, converted to look like a church. It was beautiful in its way, and electric lighting was kept to a minimum. As they entered the space, Louis noticed there were people seated in pews and facing an altar. No one turned around as they walked in, which unnerved him. 

"What are they looking at?"

"They're waiting, Louis."

The knot in his insides should have tipped him off. "For what?"

"For the sacrifice."

There was something so perverse about it, and yet the church was peaceful (so far).. Louis wasn't sure how to process all of it at once. "Me?"

Lestat was leading him down to the altar, where two attendants helped to remove his robe. Louis was not fully nude, but close enough, and his piercings glinted in the candlelight.

"How much do you love me?"

Lestat would play the priest - of course. It was one of his favorite dark daydreams, taking confessions, ordering penance, offering absolution.. 

"I love you with all my being, Sire."

"Enough to suffer for me? Enough to sacrifice yourself?"

"Yes, Sire."

Lestat faced the congregation, looking at the bare 'altar' with meaning. "So do it."

Louis seated himself on the altar. Lestat was handed a black cassock while the attendants blindfolded their lamb.

"On your back."

Louis obeyed. 

The singing began. This was a most unusual game, but one which had a profound effect on Louis. The waiting was heightening the sense of helplessness and fear. Singing became chanting; chanting became a litany between the people and their 'priest.' He was feeling disoriented, needing something to ground him - and that is when the first sear of the wax christened his skin.

It landed right between his nipples, and he quickly stifled his cry, willing his body to remain still. More wax followed, dribbling up along his throat, trickling down either side of his neck. The next drips of it were along his belly, dotting his hips, moving down to his thighs.. It seemed as though multiple candles were being employed at once, as the pain spread over the entire front of his body, his mind unable to articulate on any given point of sensation. 

The wax was nothing, a teaser. The anointing oil was far worse.

Some of those candles had been put to profane use, heating the 'sacred' oil in a chrismatory, and Louis' priest began to bless him with it, scalding him with practiced precision. The murmurs of the faithful barely reached his ears through the ringing in his head. Louis kept reminding himself it wasn't a real church, but the taboo of it all was heightening his arousal as hot oil continued to sanctify him in criss-cross patterns across his chest and stomach, as sharp as blades running along his skin. 

Lestat was reciting Latin phrases over his body, but Louis hadn't read the classics in so long, and the words were not from the standard liturgy. He felt like a stranger in a strange land; even his lover's voice sounded different, making him more vulnerable. Thin tapers were placed between his toes, lit, and left to run down upon the exquisitely sensitive flesh of his feet. Memories of things he had never personally experienced flashed through his mind, images of the burning times when superstitious townsfolk used stakes and torches to purge the evil from among them. He felt the fear of those times, tasted its bitter metallic tang in the back of his throat as he fought to stay still on the makeshift altar.

"I must cleanse you of your sins." This he heard from Lestat's lips, though it seemed to be in a hybrid tongue, a mixture of Latin, French and Spanish. Louis felt the drip of the wax upon his lips, scalding him, but he remained silent, letting the priest form a wax seal over his mouth. Fragments of scripture drifted back to him from the shadows of the past, the Psalmist asking God to place a seal upon his lips to keep his mouth from sin.. As the drippings cooled and hardened, he was rendered mute. 

"Since you will not make confession with your mouth, you shall make atonement with your body." Several pairs of hands began to place heated pieces of metal against his skin in symmetrical patterns. Patens, he surmised by the feel of their round bottoms, though the others he could not guess; crucifixes, perhaps, or saints' medals, seemed likely. Wax, oil, and metal, all heating him up inside, making him feel alive, giving his skin the glow of vitality and fooling the assembled. What would follow?

Lestat swung the censer, filling the air with cloying fragrance. Louis felt the tapers being extinguished and removed before a cincture was bound around both of his ankles, but, curiously, no second binding was applied to his wrists. Cold water, as cold as death, was poured over him in a mock christening, beginning at his head and moving toward his feet by degrees. After the raw burn of the previous torments, the water felt like needles piercing his flesh; there was no balm, only pain heaped upon pain. The altar and surrounding floor were drenched; Louis felt like the bull of Elijah being soaked upon the altar before being consumed by holy fire. The water stopped, and as he was pulled upright, Louis heard the priest making preparations for the final acts of contrition. 

The cross was not a true cross as most would recognize it; there was no overlap behind the crossbar upon which to rest one's head, making it more of a capital T. Attendants bound him to the structure, positioning his feet upon a narrow ledge which was slanted and afforded him little respite from the suffocating posture. Louis was not prepared for the innumerable spikes protruding from the base beam (the crossbar had a roughness to it, but no spikes). The spikes led him to arch his body forward, while the ledge inclined him to lean back against the painful contraption, seeking to ease his breathing. 

At this point, a skillfully-maneuvered blade divested Louis of the scrap of modesty covering his most intimate parts, leaving him fully exposed. "Sacrifice," Lestat murmured. Louis said nothing, not wishing to break the seal upon his mouth. 

A hand - he believed it was his lover's, but couldn't be sure - began to caress between his thighs, up towards his cock, which was obscenely pointed at the crowd. Within a moment, there were too many hands to count, all stroking and pinching and squeezing and tugging at various parts of his body, reinforcing the damage done. When a hot tongue coiled its way around the head of his cock, Louis tried to push forward for more contact, but rough hands shoved him back against the spiked cross. If he wanted relief, he had to endure the pain, for every time he moved forward, the mouth and hands stopped. The metal protrusions dug into his back, and he realized why the other torments had focused on his front, leaving the flesh unmarred for this pain. As he pressed against the source of his agony, his back screaming at him, the sucking began in earnest. How did the men of the east endure sleeping on beds of nails? This was not even his full weight, and the pain had him seeing stars. 

Fingers plucked at his nipple rings, nails scratched along his sides, unseen hands yanked at his hair, and yet he could only focus on two things: breathing and being sucked. His posture made it almost impossible to breathe, coupled with the fact that he was shallow-breathing through his nose, desperate to cum.. Lestat worked a finger between Louis' cheeks, finding him open, and the depravity of it all washed over him, bringing him closer. Lestat had often called Louis an angel, but to have him on display as the Christ was the most blasphemous game he'd ever dared to play.

"I shall absolve you," Lestat promised, and Louis felt the cross begin to lower to the floor, slowly, his world tilting on its axis. The full weight of his form was now forced against the spikes by gravity, and he could not be still; at every point along his shoulders, back, buttocks and legs, there was pain. Lestat added to the agony by climbing atop his lover, his cassock pulled off and discarded in a single motion. Careful fingers peeled at the wax, leaving his lover's mouth open to plunder.

"Can you stand the pain, my child?"

Louis knew the game could end now at his word. Did he want it to?

"Yes, Sire."

Lestat took his kiss, then pivoted his form so that they formed a sixty-nine. This placed less weight upon Louis, but afforded no other relief from the pain of the spikes. He sucked in desperate, sloppy passes, needing to speed things up before he lost his senses.

"He who endures to the end shall be saved," the priest murmured into his skin. Louis was close, and Lestat would show mercy upon whom he would show mercy, stroking his love's cock into his mouth with his hand. 

"And the Spirit and the Bride say, 'Come.' Let anyone who is thirsty come.." The priest had quoted Revelation, the end of all things, and Louis erupted, filling Lestat's mouth with unholy seed, just as Lestat released his blessing into Louis' mouth.

"It is finished," Stat pronounced before dismissing the congregants. Louis felt the pleasure ebbing away, leaving nothing but pain. Soon they were alone.

"Shall I make you take up your cross and follow me?"

Louis knew he would do it if asked. He would drag that symbol of death anywhere Stat asked him to. 

"Come, Louis. Let's hunt. You've earned it, and I've got an appetite like you wouldn't believe."

Their adventure at La Iglesia del Dolor was at an end, and so was their European tour. Soon they would head east for the final leg of their trip.


	3. Asia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat takes Louis into the underground scene in Japan and Thailand.

Japan was everything Louis had expected. Never had he seen so much humanity crammed into so little space! Their hotel room was more of a glorified closet, with Louis joking that it was a shame vampires didn't really sleep hanging upside down like bats. Nevertheless, he had a deep appreciation for the beauty and discipline of the people, and was eager to see what new delights awaited them.

Japanese rope bondage, or 'kinbaku,' was an ancient art. Lestat, not usually one to admit to being less than omniscient, wanted to learn something new, so they settled on watching first, getting a feel for it. He felt sure that, with his vampire senses and superior intellect, he'd pick it up easily.

The scene unfolded before them, a young man on his knees before his Joo-sama, addressing Her as such. Their translator explained in whispers that the term was a high honorific, equivalent to 'Lady' or 'Queen.' The male equivalent would be 'Goshujin-sama', and Louis made a mental note.

The kneeling one: "Watashi wa anata no doreiesu," or, 'I am your slave.'

The assembled watched as the woman began to bind Her submissive, Her hands manipulating the rope with skill, the man allowing Her to move him however She desired. When She'd finished, he remained still, the slight rise and fall of his chest the only sign that he was alive. Another man came forward, seeking the same torture, and She bound him, too, in a different position from the first. This was the pattern for a total of six men, each locked into a distinctive position, a piece of living art. Lestat felt it was time to try what he'd seen, and Louis agreed. 

Under Her watchful eye, Louis moved into the space, Lestat disrobing him before having him kneel. The marks from their play in Spain had already faded, and he mourned the loss of them. The ropes were not as coarse as he'd expected, brushing against him as they bound his arms into a new pose, followed by his ankles. His muscles felt the strain of the newness of it all, but he remained silent, keeping his breathing even. Lestat worked slowly and deliberately, remembering the steps, keeping them in order in his mind. 

With each knot, Lestat poured his intentions into his hands, infusing the ropes. There was lust, of course; he freely admitted to Louis being his greatest weakness, and he was not ashamed of his passions. There was also adoration, caring concern, a sense of loyalty despite their external liasons. Then there was the most dangerous and potent aphrodisiac of all: love. Vampires could live lives of isolation, never seeking intimacy; they could choose to partake of a never-ending series of meaningless lovers and mindless fucks; or they could take the narrow path, the one of finding a 'soul-mate', a term which amused Lestat, and which led to long, intense discussions on the nature of the soul and the presence or absence of souls among vampires. Lestat knew that, no matter how many mortals he turned, or how many humans or vampires he dallied with, none would create in him the same longing, the same aching, the same depth of FEELING that came from being around Louis. There was no rope, chain or other material as strong as the invisible bondage between them. Louis felt it, too, with every wind of the rope, every fluid movement. The Lady was impressed, not only with his technical skill, but with his finesse. It was like a dance, graceful, sure, a joy to watch. Lestat mused that this must be why ropes were sometimes used in magick rituals to 'bind' energy or intent; the power of the simple act filled him and pulsed out into his captive.

When Lestat had trussed up his lover to his satisfaction, he stepped back, admiring the visual. Louis looked so beautiful, every muscle emphasized by the contorted pose, every inch of skin vulnerable to Lestat and anyone else who chose to touch him - though, the mood he was in, anyone who dared lay a hand on his treasure without his permission would pay with their life at the earliest opportunity. Louis, of course, had an advantage over the mortal pretzels: he was used to remaining motionless for long periods, and could do so with far less discomfort than humans. The position forced him to take slow, even breaths, unable to get a full inhale. He knew he couldn't suffocate, but the tiny mortal residue of his being felt a delicious jolt of fear at being at Lestat's mercy for something as fundamental as breathing. This was a sign, to Lestat and all those present, of his absolute trust in his master.

The Lady nodded, approving, as She moved forward to caress each of Her captives. They shuddered at Her touch, their senses heightened as they entered an almost reverent meditative state. There was freedom in being immobilized, naked and helpless, and it was this gift that kept the men coming back time after time. A few of the men had menial jobs and lives of relative poverty and hardship; for them, these escapades were transcendent. They found meaning in their suffering for another, and it made them feel important, desirable, and cared for. The rest held high-stress corporate and government positions, and this was their way of letting go of control, of expressing the vulnerability they weren't permitted to show at work or at home. It wasn't just about getting off; it was about getting in touch with deep emotions. Sometimes they had moments of mental clarity during a session which helped them to find a solution to a job-related problem; the absence of external distractions helped them tap the wisdom within. 

Louis could smell the sweat and taste the anticipation of his fellow captives as their Lady prepared the hooks. Her toys were going to become decorative living art, suspended in positions of Her choosing for Her own aesthetic pleasure. The first was dangled in a flight pose, and upon Her command, his arms became outstretched. He was flying without moving, soaring free inside his own body as the endorphins flowed.

The second was suspended upside down, ramrod straight, his head several inches from the ground. He knew his Lady would not allow him to come to any harm, so he wouldn't be in that position for long.

The third was in a position with ankles behind his head, and being hung from the ceiling would allow all present to see his ass and genitals. The man couldn't hide his arousal, nor could he do anything to relieve it, and that freed him.

The fourth man was suspended in a reverse shrimp tie, his cock pointing toward the floor, exposed and vulnerable.

The fifth was in a reverse prayer position, hanging upright, allowing him to see.

The final man was placed onto hooks and hung in a hogtie pose, forcing him to arch his body. Louis feared for his ability to breathe, but the Lady was an expert, and the sound of his breathing reassured those present.

Louis was in a Beetle pose, rendering his cock inaccessible, but pressing it against his body in a torturous way. His ass was exposed by the position, all the rounder for his legs being drawn up to his body, and he knew he couldn't turn over if he tried - hence the name of the pose, like a beetle stuck on its back and unable to right itself. Lestat chose to leave Louis on his back on the floor, all the better to see what befell his fellow love-slaves.

She took turns gently swinging each of the men, testing the strength of their bonds and giving them a little thrill. Each of them knew he might leave without orgasming, and each wanted to please his Lady, so that She might honor them with release.

Much of the torture seemed to be verbal, the submissives not daring to look into their Lady's eyes unless ordered to do so. The exact meanings were lost in translation, but the emotion behind them was clear enough. The men absorbed Her cool detached contempt, wallowing in their unworthiness. Louis could feel their humiliation and pain, and wondered if his lover felt it, too. Louis watched as Her hands inspected and caressed her toys, his own skin starved for touch. 

Lestat knew what Louis wanted. He could smell his ass, his heat, and wondered if the mortals could, too. He'd recently read about the phenomenon known as 'gay heat,' or, 'having your pink on,' the theory that gay men had fluctuations in 'ripeness' the way women did. It was nearly the full moon, a supposedly prime time for gay heat, and Louis wanted to be bred. There were times when Lestat placed a barrier between them by wearing a condom, denying his lover that most intimate fluid, another way to assert his dominance, but Lestat was feeling generous. Louis' anal pout had never seemed more enticing than at that moment, and Lestat licked his lips, wishing he could get a taste, but conscious of the fact that this was not *his* space. It simply wouldn't do to be an uncouth guest. 

One of the men was whimpering softly as She attended to him with Her hands, and the others waited, hoping She would choose them next. Though not arousing to him, Lestat could appreciate the beauty of the hanging art, the intricacies of the knots, the strength of the ropes contrasted with the softness of their texture. Louis, even in his folded position, was taller than the others, and broader, too, making him seem like an exotic delight imported for the attendants' pleasure. Lestat relished the thought of travelling the world with his lover, showcasing him to heads of state like a prized possession; hadn't some of the English explorers done the same with the Natives they found? Alas, those times were long gone; Lestat was unlikely to gain audience with anyone so prominent, and with so many sources of erotic entertainment available in the modern age, there was little demand for such displays. Still, perhaps they could role-play with some willing assistants...

The tension built within the audience as well as within the participants. The Lady knew just where each man's weaknesses lay, and She exploited them to the full. Some were merely ticklish; others had places which were sensitive to the point of pain. Each got his turn, and She seemed to be considering them, like slabs of meat at a market. Which one should She consume?

Finally, the man in the flying pose was chosen. Perhaps it was his steadfastness in holding his body taut, never wavering; perhaps it was the size of his cock dangling down for Her inspection. Only the Lady truly knew. At any rate, She lowered the hook, and even during his descent, he held the pose, trusting that She wouldn't allow him to be injured. Once his belly was flush with the floor and the hook was out of the way, She pushed his arms against his sides and rolled him over.

Lestat watched, kneeling; Louis watched from floor level, his head turned towards the scene.

She removed Her robe, positioning her lithe form atop the man. There was no kissing, no affection; this was a case of being used, and he submitted to Her without question. The heat of Her sex was palpable as She impaled Herself on his cock, Her hands working the knots as She began to ride him.

Lestat was fascinated by Her hands, the focus with which they began to unwind the ropes, freeing him, and his unwillingness to move despite the ability to do so. There was power in his restraint, and the others, still suspended, still aching, respected that power. 

Her fingers trembled only slightly as She approached climax. The ropes bound around his thighs seemed to provide pleasurable friction, and this was confirmed as She passed a length of rope across Her clit, dragging it side to side. This meant that it also brushed the base of his cock, forging another bond between them. Removing Herself for a moment, She loosely looped rope around his cock before lowering Herself onto him once more. The coils of rope rubbed Her folds, edging Her closer. Lestat could feel the need in Her, the need to cum, and the desperate struggle of Her slave to hold back until he had permission. 

The rest of the bondage was undone, leaving only the rope around his cock, the rope becoming soaked with the essence of the Lady. She was fucking it as much as She was fucking him, and Louis wanted to feel that drag across his most sensitive skin, the tightening of it... 

As She came, it seemed that a collective sigh filled the space. After a moment's pause, She gave a soft verbal command, and the man beneath her came, too. He had served her well, and She had rewarded him.

Lestat thanked his gracious Hostess and made preparation to leave. Louis noticed him whispering to the interpreter, and some money changed hands. Lestat picked up Louis by the ropes like a portmanteau, one-handing him towards the door with only a towel to cover him.

"My love?"

"We're going back to our room, now, Louis. Just like this. If you please me, I shall untie you - but only after I've satisfied myself. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sire." And so Lestat carried his barely-covered Louis back to their hotel, with a look in his eye which dared any foolish mortal to challenge him.

\---------------------------------- 

Japan was behind them, with only one more stop on their journey before heading home.

Timing the flights so that they arrived at night, the lovers disembarked in Bangkok. They stood out like sore thumbs, too well-dressed to be among the hostel-surfing backpacker crowd, too white and western to be natives, though they did spot other business-suit types here and there amid the throngs. The heat assaulted them immediately, and they knew they needed to change. 

The hotel room was small - enough space for their 'trunks' and luggage, but not much else. Lestat put it best when he quipped that there wasn't enough room to swing a dick in there, prompting hearty laughter from both of them. Luckily, they wouldn't need to spend much time cooped up there.

Thailand has a reputation for being a leader in the sex trade - and deservedly so - but the amount of legislation and red tape surrounding the particulars of the business is unreal. For example, no one is allowed to sell sex toys in Thailand, and there are a lot of restrictions on what prostitutes (and average people) can and can't do sexually, especially in regards to fetish scenes. This sense of transgressing moral and legal laws made it more exciting for Lestat, and Louis happily went along for the ride.

"So far, we've had sex in front of an audience.."

"Yes."

"..you rented me out to a Madam.."

"True."

"..who peed in my mouth after shocking my cock and ass," Louis added, prompting sounds of gleeful reminiscence from Lestat.

"What else, Louis?"

"Then there was the tattoo in Italy and the piercings in Holland.."

"You're welcome," Stat teased.

"..followed by your own version of a Black Mass in Spain.."

Lestat was particularly proud of that one.

".. and the unforgettable introduction to Japanese rope play. What on earth could you have planned for our last stop?"

Lestat smiled, that same understated grin which had been the last sight of many a mortal. "Wait and see."

The club was smaller than most of the European ones they'd visited, but the air was thick with desire and anticipation. They were dressed casually, almost passable as normal tourists, but there was a strangeness about them which drew appraising glances.

A naked woman on a makeshift stage was bound to a chair, a second woman being summoned to hold the back of the piece of furniture. The Master took his time inflicting pain upon his sub, nothing new.. until Louis noticed the man placing a hand around the girl's throat.

At first he thought it was for dramatic effect, but it soon became apparent that there was something else going on.

The woman behind her was instructed to lean the chair back and hold it in place while the Master stripped. As he worked his way between the bound girl's thighs, she caught her breath, taking in great gasps of air as though preparing for a deep plunge. Louis could scent her fear as the man choked her again while guiding his cock into her with his free hand. The weight of the chair and the two people in it bore down on the woman behind, making it hard for her to get her breath, too. By choking one, he was effectively choking the other.

"Stat, this is dangerous! She could suffer permanent - "

"Shhh."

The man thrusted, his grip never wavering, actually tightening as he got closer. She struggled, not by choice, her muscles spasming involuntarily in her fight to breathe. As he fucked harder, he loosened enough to let her get a breath before resuming his grasp. This pattern of hold and release went on, until, with a guttural cry, he came, flinging the chair and its occupant to the stage floor like a discarded rag. She lay on her side, still bound, taking deep, hoarse breaths. The woman beneath the chair was free, able to breathe easily now. 

"Shall we?"

"Stat, you know it isn't the same. We can't suffocate; even if we're shut up in a coffin and left - "

Stat needed to break that chain of thought before Louis followed it back to that night in the Theatres Des Vampires. "Louis, Louis.. Come. Let me show you."

Convinced he would have to fake it for the crowd, Louis obliged. Once Louis was in position, all eyes on him, Lestat began to speak, so low that the crowd wouldn't be able to hear. Louis felt himself slipping into an altered state. "Are you..?" He found he couldn't find words. Lestat was putting him into a highly suggestible frame of mind, and he soon had Louis convinced that he was fully capable of being asphyxiated. 

A scarf was produced, bound around Louis' neck and tied in a slip-knot at the base of his throat. Louis felt his lover moving downward, felt the hot drag of his lips and tongue upon his aching cock. The scarf's tail end was in Stat's hand, wound around his fingers as he pulled it taut. The heat of the blowjob mingled with the burn of Louis' brain as he struggled for air. This wasn't possible, but the crowd fully believed it, watching with arousal and fascination.

Stat continued to employ all of his favorite tricks, and the thought entered Louis' mind: He's going to kill me. 

Wasn't this inevitable? Hadn't everything, every encounter up to this moment, told him it was so? Lestat would be the death of him. This orgasm would be the last thing he'd feel before going into oblivion, and he would not deny his Sire. He was ready to let go, to lay down his life, rather than deny him.

Lestat kept feeding suggestions to his mind, and he gobbled them up, greedy for more. The pain and the fear were genuine, and they made him harder. The scarf tightened, and Louis saw white. Stat licked and sucked until Louis' body jerked, spraying forth into his mouth and face. He felt it rising from his balls, the muscles in his thighs clenching, his legs kicking out like a hanged man's. Suddenly he felt air rushing into his lungs, the scarf sliced in two by Stat's talon, the sparkles and tingles obscuring his returning vision. Dazed, Louis was led from the stage, still pulsing as he walked.

"Do you see? I've learned perhaps the ultimate form of domination - mind control. Do you like it?"

Louis, feeling reborn, kissed his lover's mouth, tasting himself. Tasting love.

"You never cease to amaze me. You convinced me that I was going to die, that you had the power to choke the life out of me - "

Stat smiled, brushing Louis' hair from his face. "All I want is to suck the cum out of you and fuck the sense out of you. I want you breathing, Louis, breathing and feeling and fucking.."

They had time to visit the temples, the night beaches, the usual hot-spots. Lestat was hungry, and Bangkok was calling. The lovers would answer, in their own unique way.

An hour later, settled on the beach in the moon-glow, almost sated in every way, Lestat had to know.

"Which was your favorite? What was the best part?"

Louis thought for a moment. "There were things I enjoyed about every experience, Stat, but there's only one thing I truly need in order to feel good." 

Lestat could be so clueless sometimes. "Yes?"

Louis sighed, exasperated but amused. "YOU, Stat. Anywhere in the world that we go, anything that we do, it's always you. You are my pleasure. You.. are home."

It was the best answer to give, aside from which, it was the truth. On the return trip, Lestat contemplated once more how lucky he was, his mind already scrambling to find more ways to tease and delight the two of them.

He knew now that he could take Louis around the world and give him new experiences without ever having to leave home, and that was the greatest souvenir of all.


End file.
